Little Wholock
by The One with Purple Headphones
Summary: After an incident with the Slitheen, the Doctor, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes have been reverted back into childhood. Will they be able to tell Mycroft how to get them back to normal and reveal the real plan of the Siltheen?
1. Prologue

"Well, uh thanks Doctor we really would have been over our heads if you hadn't turned up in time to warn us about the Slitheen." John remarked to the to the floppy haired, bow tie clad alien.

"Oh well if you didn't like vinegar on your chips, the whole Universe could have imploded or even spontaneously combusted!" The Doctor said with a smile, but seeing the shocked faces on the good doctor and consulting detective apologised quickly "I mean I was just kidding… that could never happen… ha…ha…no?" He registered the blank looks on their faces and decided to never again use humour on them again.

"So moving on, this Klitheen they're made of calcium right? But then how would…"

"No Sherlock, they are called Slitheen! You do not want to upset the Klitheen of Klom by comparing them to those Slitheen savages. I mean…"

"Uh doctor..?" John said panicking.

"…been there, done that…"

"No, seriously Doctor. Listen!" Sherlock joined in, but by now the Doctor was off on one of his rants. His hands flapped, as he rocked on his heels and closed his eyes.

"Got the T-shirt, well when I say T-shirt I mean hat as the Klitheen are actually these little furry bundles of rainbow fluff that don't actually have the right body shape to wear T-shirts so they just wear hats really. They do large hat export range though. Their hats are the very height of fashion on… ow!" John had given in and punched the Doctor's arm. "That really hurt… oh"

"Yeah, everything is growing!"

"No John, I think we're the ones shrinking" were the last words John heard before he lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 1- a discovery

Mycroft Holmes impatiently rang the doorbell of 221b Baker Street. He was not known for his patient nature at the best of times, in fact he was one of the least patient men you could ever meet. He sent emails warning the sender if they didn't reply in 12minutes and 38 seconds they would be fired and Mycroft firmly believed in the art (practically worshipped it) of pushing in lines and buying cake from a bakery (he did that allot).

Mycroft reached up to ring the bell again, he then remembered Sherlock had shot it the week before, after it 'wouldn't stop ringing'. God, he hated taking care of Sherl, all his life he had been told, "Look after your little brother" or "Sherlock needs your help Myc". How tired he was of his little brother's troublesome antics, and cleaning up after him. The elder, umbrella-wielding Holmes reached up and grabbed the knocker and let go of it. Almost immediately Mrs. Hudson open the door.

"Oh hello Mycroft, the boys have just gotten back from a case and I think Sherlock's asleep. Try not to wake him up, dear or he'll never get back to sleep."

"Oh do get out of the way, Mrs. Hudson" Mycroft sneered. He pushed past her like, well an angry and impatient man on the way to visit his childish brother. The silence from the flat above was almost deafening; he started to worry. Taking the stairs two at a time Mycroft rushed up to his brother's home.

Mycroft flung open the door and looked around the flat. Everything was in its usual chaotic order, except for the three piles of clothing in the middle of the flat. That was odd one of them was moving. Mycroft approached the bundle apprehensively and nudged the twitching pile with the tip of his latest umbrella (he got through at least two a week). The assortment shuddered and started to whimper. Mycroft drew back hurriedly surprise showing on his normally emotionless face.

"Myc?" a small head of coal black curls poked out of the heap of garments.

"What…?" It couldn't be him, it just couldn't be! Mycroft's eyes widened. It sounded just like Sherlock when he was three but that was impossible!


	3. Chapter 2- what to do

Mycroft Holmes took a deep breath. One must think rationally with a clear head in situations like this, he thought to himself. Time to go to his mind empire (of course Mycroft Holmes would have something better than Sherlock). What did he know? One: Sherlock was three, not much he could do about that at the minute. Two: Sherlock was the only one who was three. Wait; there were two more piles. Okay, so Two (mark two): John and someone else (wait was that a bow tie?) were also toddlers. Three: a bow tie and tweed jacket could mean only one thing, the Doctor. Four: The Doctor meant trouble, sure he eventually stopped it but it also meant there was trouble that had to be stopped. Five: this meant time to call Anthea. Mycroft walked out of his mind empire (no easy feet) and picked his iPhone.

"Anthea code 9B8/4J2/orange"

"But sir, you made that up when you were drunk! You can't seriously mean that… they're... children?"

"No Anthea, they are toddlers and there is also a code 11."

After Anthea had hung up Mycroft wasn't sure about what to do. He had little experience with children, as he had never been entitled to caring for Sherlock in the early stages of his life. He thought perhaps he should call someone, but whom would he call? Not their parents, they would only worry and get in the way plus they infuriated him. A friend, Mycroft laughed out load he had no friends. A friend of Sherlock? Perhaps, if he wasn't lying on the floor next to the curly haired, three year old consulting detective. Who else was there? Oh, wait what about Lestrade? Mycroft thought. He could be relied on to keep a cool head in a crisis, hence the reason he was a Detective Inspector.

"Hello? Is that Greg Lestrade?

"Yeah, is that you Mycroft?" Lestrade had been kidnapped before.

"Yes, I need some…" Good God pull yourself together, everyone needs help at some point in their life, right? "…uh I need help, with Sherlock.

"Oh no, what has he done this time? Do I need to get together a drug bust team? Or is this a code 95B?"

"No, a code 9B8/4J2/orange."

"But we made that up when we were drunk!"


	4. Chapter 3- Waking Up

Sherlock didn't really understand what had happened to him. He woke up disorientated and dizzy, he must have been drugged again. God, he hoped it wasn't Irene again, but it couldn't be. He'd know right? Probably.

That wasn't the weirdest part though, he felt hungry. Sherlock Holmes the greatest and only consulting detective, who had in fact eaten a whole slice of toast three days ago under the instructions of John, had a rumbly tummy. To be honest he was starving. Now normally, Sherlock would only eat when he started to feel faint. And only when John really bullied him.

Ow! Something was poking him, ow! Again, this was tiresome. Wait was that the tip of an umbrella? So that must mean Mycroft. Sherlock's brain jumped from situation to answer. But it seemed slower then normal and he just felt so sleepy.

"Myc?" Sherlock poked his head out of the mass of cloth he was enveloped in. But he did feel oh, so sleepy. Maybe Sherlock could just close his eyes for a minute. A really short minute.

Sherlock Holmes, the first consulting detective, the sort of (but not really) sociopath and the wearer of a sheet to Buckingham Palace, fell asleep.

* * *

John woke up feeling short. That was a massive understatement; his whole life John Watson had been shortest in the class and now with Sherlock. Well, to be truthful he felt like a child, but this time he felt short, short. Like really short. Even his armchair loomed over his little head. Had Sherlock drugged him again?

God, this was embarrassing. John was fed up with being drugged and he was pretty sure if it continued like this, consequences would ensue. John's brain whirled, as he started to cry. Not his normal little chokey sobs when he thought Sherlock was asleep, but the heartfelt sobs of a wronged infant. John hadn't meant to cry, he had been trying to shout "What the hell, Sherlock?" but this worked too.

* * *

The Doctor woke up happier then he had done for a while. The Doctor didn't really sleep, and when he did he was usually plagued by nightmares so for him to wake up at all, let alone happy was a rare occurrence. This cheered his already cheer filled morning, and the doctor had such a smile on his face that was so happy it could have felled a dalek 30m away, due to the cuteness factor. Everything was okay at the time, which was rare when the Doctor was around.

After getting over how cheerful he was the doctor realized something. He felt funny. Like new body funny which meant regeneration funny. That meant something bad had happened. The weird part was that well, he felt different physically his mind felt the same. Maybe he was almost the same but just more cheerful, that would be nice but no. The usual post regeneration cravings and taste changes weren't happening nor were the pain of his two hearts trying to settle in a new body. That was strange.

But the Doctor thought he must have changed. He wasn't the same size as before for a start and he didn't seem as well coordinated as before (which was saying something). Perhaps he looked like Banacafalata now, that wouldn't be too bad though the spikes would need getting used to.


	5. Chapter 4- Not our division

"Not our division" Lestrade muttered as he walked into the flat. It was chaotic to say the least as Sherlock Holmes lived in this flat. Lestrade remembered the days before John had moved in, the days of real drug busts, the days of body parts across the whole flat (even in the bathroom) and the days of Sherlock ending up in prison. The 'good' old days as Lestrade tried to forget them.

Nowadays John luckily had limited Sherlock's body part storage to the bottom shelf of the fridge and he occasionally cleaned up day old mugs of tea and week old experiments (though the abundance of jam jars puzzled Greg). This only happened occasionally though as John was usually busy at the surgery or being dragged off to cases.

So, the normal clutter of the flat was to be expected but the children's toys were unusual as was the rather fat man being jumped on by three small toddlers. Lestrade still didn't really think that John and Sherlock had become toddlers; somehow it just didn't seem possible. One second Greg was drunk making up codes for unlikely situation, such as GB/67I that meant the two had become Olympic athletes or GIRLS, which meant the pair, had become girls, but that could never happen. Could it?

Now they were three years old attacking a very high up official government operative. It was quite funny to be truthful. Lestrade sniggered.

"What have you got yourself into this time, Mycroft? And I thought the incident with the dancing cow was bad enough!"

"I already told you that, incident has become unmentionable by the official secrets act, after I… um *cough* blackmailed them *cough*" Mycroft was starting to turn purple under the weight of the infants. "Help me, please!"

Lestrade took pity. He shoved off what could only be described as a ball of curls, a small puzzled blond boy and weirdest of all a little brown haired boy wearing only a bow tie and pants. God Mycroft had a lot to explain.


	6. Chapter 5- The Fourth Wall is Broken

**Authors' Note: So, I just want to say: THANK YOU for all the favourites, follows and reviews! It's so nice to know I'm not alone in the universe. Thanks for taking time to read this. :) And yay, a longish chapter for once. Well by my standards long. Yeah, I don't write enough. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Sherlock or Doctor who what a shame.**

* * *

After pulling the children off of Mycroft, Lestrade had one burning question. The First Question, the oldest question in the Universe, that must never be answered, hidden in plain sight.

"What's with the pant's then?" Mycroft stared into Lestrade's questioning eyes and with as much seriousness as he could, proclaimed:

"I have no idea." He paused for a tension increasing moment "If he can tie a bow tie then he could possibly put on a shirt and some trouser, right?"

The two dissolved in helpless giggles. Suddenly the usually argument filled flat of 221b was filled with the hysterics of two fully grown men.

Mycroft flopped on Sherlock's chair wiping tears from his eyes, and trying unsuccessfully to stop the chortling. Lestrade was having just as much trouble it seemed but neither of them noticed as Sherlock crawled off towards the kitchen, to cause trouble no doubt.

After finally settling down Mycroft regaled Lestrade with the exploits of his discovery that afternoon…

"It all started when I opened the door to 221b Baker Street. I pushed past Mrs. Hudson…"

"Wait, does Mrs. Hudson know?" Greg interrupted.

"Ah, it would seem the author of this story has so far forgotten up to this point that Mrs. Hudson exists."

"I think you just broke the fourth wall Mycroft." Lestrade interjected.

"Oh dear." Mycroft's face palled considerably.

A brief interlude will now ensue as the author tries to fix the fourth wall. _*Thumping sounds and mild curses come from behind the metaphorical curtain, which would probably, be purple if it existed. But it doesn't so it isn't*_

* * *

Mrs. Hudson ambled up the stairs with a tray of 4 mugs; tea and biscuits, judging by the fact the two visitors were still in the flat with her boys (who said she couldn't pick up a thing or two from Sherlock). Unless of course Mycroft had done another runner out the window, Mrs. Hudson suspected the umbrella had helped him to float down to the street last time, but that was only a theory. She really did hope that there wouldn't be too much going on in the flat at the moment though; the last drugs bust had really upset her and now her hip was starting to play up again.

Mrs. Hudson was glad the author remembered her now; it was boring hanging around in limbo as her character was left forgotten by the busy author. All she had to do was play poker with the left over Mary Sues that no one liked.

"Gah! The fourth wall has been broken again! I must not have used enough glue." The author stormed off to try building it again.

*_Muffled bangs and crashing noises and a final cheer of success*_

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, what had come over her? She felt like she had a bad case of dejà vue. Oh well, time to bring up the tea and biscuits.

* * *

Mycroft finally calmed down enough to talk to Greg without bursting into fits of giggles.

"I walked into the flat and, wait what Sherlock's doing?" They rushed into the kitchen.


	7. Chapter 6- Foreshadowing

**Author's Note: So, I have finally been able to type up this chapter, sorry it took so long but school's been in the way and well the laptop took an unexpected trip to Switzerland let's just say.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, Sherlock still doesn't belong to me. Let alone Doctor Who.**

* * *

"So what's with the pants then?" Sherlock zoned out. He didn't really care about what Lestrade thought. He was more interested in getting back to normal maybe he should try experimenting? Now that was an idea!

Sherlock crawled over to the kitchen; he still hadn't got the hand of walking just yet. He reached up to the table and grabbed for his Bunsen burner but it wasn't there, neither were any of his beakers of dangerous chemicals. That was strange. Hmmm maybe he could just try mixing some normal household chemicals together and see what happens.

"Sherwock, wat awe you doing?" How had he not noticed John creeping up behind him? He had been making enough noise to deafen a small a small elephant.

"Sherwock, I'm waiting." John tried to give Sherlock his best menacing army stare, but on his little face it just made him look cute. It had the desired effect on Sherlock though.

"Awight, awight I was just gowing to experwement a bit." Sherwock, I mean ahem Sherlock looked sheepishly down at the floor.

"Is thwat weally a good idea?" John crossed his arms

"Well…"

"What's going on?" The Doctor joined the fray.

"Well Sherwock was…"

"Yes what was Sherlock doing?" Mycroft stormed in followed by a very red in the face detective. He hadn't meant to get everyone involved; he wasn't really doing anything bad right though?

"I wasn't doing anythwing, weally I wasn't!" Sherlock looked up with his big adorable eyes into Mycroft's little angry ones.

Nope Sherlock and his little 'friends' weren't going to get away with ambushing Mycroft again. *Click* What was that sound? Oh, the sounds of a camera phone taking a photo, of course. Thank goodness for Scotland Yard and their impeccable timings for picture taking and filming, otherwise how would Mycroft have gotten the video of Sherlock roller-skating? Hilarious!

Lestrade's stomach growled. When had he last eaten? Around breakfast at least, but he could wait until he got home. Greg was used to not eating lunch, after long cases but in this situation things had changed. John's stomach had been rumbling for the last half an hour as much as he tried to hide it, and well Sherlock was becoming crankier then normal which made you think his usual obnoxious self the nicest man you ever met.

"Uh, Mycroft I think these three need dinner."

"Me and Shirly never ate as children, so I doubt that any of them will actually want food." Lestrade thought Mycroft was joking but with a quick glance at the annoying man's face his hopes were dashed like getting to school on time when the buses are on strike.

"Yeah, well I'm worried John is going to collapse in a minute." Turning to the troublesome trio "Why don't you three go and watch telly?" Sherlock sniffed.

"Awight, come on."

"Can we watch Seaseme Sweet?" Voices drifted over from the living room.

"No, I wanna wach Awthur"

"No, Bagpuss!"

"Sherwock, that show isn't on anymore" John put his hands on his hips and stared at Sherlock pityingly. Sherlock started to sniffle a bit.

"Oh." Somehow the small comment made Greg realize how vulnerable Sherlock had once been, and now was again. He was no longer the cold, emotionless Sherlock who enjoyed solving murders and running round London with his blogger. He was just a little kid again. Lestrade decided to intervene now, before the tears started. He did after all have experience in dealing with two younger siblings. Asking Mycroft to find something for supper Lestrade went to settle the dispute.

"Look why don't I put on a film instead? Lets see, uh" Lestrade combed through the small pile of DVDS next to John's DVD player. Boring, too scary, not that desperate, boring. Really John, Lord of the Rings? To be honest Lestrade had never really seen John as a fan boy, but each to there own. Wait, what was that? Oh perfect!

Returning to Mycroft in the kitchen, Lestrade smelt something burning.

"Uh, Mycroft. What are you making?"

"It was meant to be grill cheese." The burnt sludge stuck to the bottom of the smoldering pan did not look like grill cheese to him.

"Uh, Mycroft maybe I should…" Lestrade was cut off abruptly when Mrs. Hudson burst into the flat.

"I brought some tea and biscuits for you and the boys, oh who are the little ones in front of the telly then?"

"Well those are…"

"They're myself and Sherlock's cousins." Mycroft jumped in, like an anteater at an all you can eat ant buffet, hastily. "They're visiting for the week"

"What a shame I just came up here to tell you I'm going away for the next two weeks, I won the lottery actually. Now that I think about it though I didn't enter the lottery this week, the slip was posted through at midnight"

"Yes, yes. O.K, I'll let my brother and Dr. Watson know now out. Out!" Pushing Mrs. Hudson roughly, a bit too roughly, sighing with relief once the door was closed

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"The less people involved the better."

"Hmmm, I'm not quite sure about that. What about uh, ordering pizza?" Lestrade looked worn out so Mycroft gave in. "You order, I just need to um, make a few calls."

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**,_,**

**[O.0]**

**/)_)**

**-''-''-**

**The One With Purple Headphones, Out!**


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